


Salt Skin

by smutcity



Series: Tales of Revas Lavellan [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Long fic to be, M/M, Post-Trespasser, tags will change as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-20 17:08:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9501716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutcity/pseuds/smutcity
Summary: Post-Trespasser. Sometimes you just have to protect the one you love from themselves, and sometimes you just have to plan long travels to get back at them for stealing your arm.And then there's times where both those things overlap.





	1. Chapter 1

The Inquisition had been disbanded as promptly as it had been started. 

While some said it was an absolute shocker, those closer to the Herald were the last to be amazed. Roused in a prison with little recollection of why with chains on his wrists and a mark on his hand. Thrown at demons and danger at every moment just for having that same mark. Being asked to make choices that ultimately made Revas feel responsible for the terrible life the Templars had gone through after; swallowed by red lyrium, their minds corrupted, their bodies malformed. Choices that completely threw over the reign in Orlais as dictated by the limited knowledge of a Dalish elf. Choices that ended up with the Wardens banished because of the permanence of an angry outburst. 

Worse, in the Heralds' own view, were the losses to his kind; an ancient artifact, destroyed. His clan, annihilated. A well of wisdom, given up to a human woman, while the temple it resided in was broken down, their ancient sentinels gone or dead. His partner and guidance gone in a flash. All in the attempt to 'save Thedas'. 

Then, two years later, complaints became louder, and the soft expression Revas held vanished enitrely as if he'd been robbed of his innocence. Between an entire Council being raised to point out his incompetence as an impromptu leader, an annihilation plot by the Qunari solely because there was power, and a small side note that the man he'd shared his time with was none other than the Trickster God of his people, wanting to murder out the people Revas had tried (and, repeatedly, failed) to protect for the sake of rebuilding the past and unleashing the Gods that made him set up the Veil to begin with? 

He was done. 

"Another ale. Or whatever you've got." Revas' words cut sharp. For the time being, some of his old companions still lingered, though the most prominent ones like his advisors returned to different duties. 

The buzzing of the bar was welcome. As was Sera's snorting laughter as she parked herself in by the elfs' side. 

"Pissed right the fuck off still, then? 's Better this way, though. Your arms dead but on the bright side no more nobles asses to kiss," she chimed, even as she reached over the bar for a half empty bottle as the tender poured Revas his drink. "'Sides, if you go back to the woods or where ever you could always brag about porking an elfy god and leave out the details." 

There was something slightly terrifying about Solas and his bullshit to her. It was also slightly hilarious due to the up-their-own-arse Dalish being proven terribly wrong about everything. Situational hilarity trumped terror tonight. 

The hilarity of the situations nor the shit-eating grin were not appreciated very much by Revas, who threw her a death glare, but after everything she was fully aware she could get away with it. They'd thrown worse at each other in good nature. 

"What's the plan anyway once shits' flown over," she continued, after which she swallowed a mouthful of whatever she'd grabbed, vaguely motioning towards the former Inquisitor when she noted the bartender eye into her direction. His tab. "-- Could go with Widdle and me. You scratched my back, I scratch yours or whatever." 

"I'm happy enough finally getting myself out of Skyhold to not have to see four walls again for extended periods of time," Revas responded. His fingers curled around his tankard's handle the second it was handed to him, taking a sip. "Too Dalish for an Inquisitor, too Dalish for whatever city you're headed for." 

It earned him a snort. "Right, I forgot. You're stupid. Got no arm and no people, gonna dig a tunnel with your teeth and call it a home, live there the rest of your life, get eaten by a bear, ruin your whole 'punching your boyfriend in the face' plan. It's still a plan, right?" 

The dark-skinned elf arched his brow. He'd stated it in a fit of anger, as soon as his world stopped being a blurry haze of nothing but agonizing pain and black. 

Still sounded good. 

Dark chocolate eyes turned to Sera again. It was a determination in her expression, furrowed brows and lips drawn tight, that made one thing obvious – she had a plan. She was getting there. If it involved him punching Solas in the face, he was liking the sound of it. It was his fault he'd been forced into the role of Inquisitor to begin with. 

"Lets say I stick to the plan," he responded, shifted to rest on his arm—cringing when he dipped down lower than expecting because the lower half wasn't there any more on that side, which resulted in him uneasily leaning on the right one after putting down his tankard. "Figure out where he's at, make my way over, deal with his shit – again – and if we're still alive by the end of it, finally get a break. Something tells me you can fill in some details." 

Sera shifted on her stool, and the narrow of her eyes, the curl of her lips, would make many nobles nervous. Her hands parked on her knees, and she stared at the Inquisitor. 

"Dicks' gonna kill all sortsa people for the 'greater good' and you know shit," she started. "The Friends of Red Jenny've got your back. Asked Dagna to work you up a fist so you can punch him with it, you take it to where ever you need. You did favors, we'll return it. It's that simple. If it doesn't work, you punch him again." 

"You're still not coming along?" 

"Pfft. Fuck no. Got my ass up in demons too many times, too much elfy shit, I'd just throw up every two seconds. Too much shit going on. I don't like death but I don't like demons and magic and shit either, you know?" 

The older elf laughed, but nodded. Part of Revas had wanted to just not go through with it, either, but. 

He really, really wanted to punch Solas for taking his arm, almost getting Thedas wiped out and then trailing off to plot the demise of all mortal elves by unleashing the Gods that made him fuck up with the immortal ones in the first place. 

"Alright," he murmured, reaching for his tankard again. He paused, rose his eyes to look at the bartender – man was awfully unfamiliar, awfully uninterested in the fact Sera'd nabbed a bottle for herself and had no idea if Revas could pay for it. 

It could be paranoia. There could be sixty ears listening to them right now. 

"I'll wait for the arm, head up north to pay my last respects to my clan, then save the day. Again." He smirked. The back of his neck itched. He was going to hate the entire time until he could confront Solas about this again, knowing he'd been shadowed by two groups without having a clue. 

"From your boyfriend. If we end up in the fade, you should look for Coryphypiss." 

Revas rolled his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

The prosthetic was terrible.

It was needed, Revas had decided, at first. He was a warrior. He needed a shield, or else he'd have to wield a greatsword, but he couldn't do that with one arm. He could somewhat wield a shield, now.

Somewhat.

Couldn't aim it worth shit, though. Plus the prosthetic constantly itched and ached his stump. And whenever it shifted, he couldn't fight at all, had to correct it. And the inner fabric layer was constantly moving, making him meet cold metal, and then something would slam into his shield and he'd be cussing for minutes straight, and it couldn't get wet, and it couldn't get dirty, and he couldn't feel anything throughout the damn thing itself until it hit him square in sensitive flesh, and it was fucking _heavy_. Worst of all was that it was was steady, it constantly aimed in the same angle which made him stub himself in the knee with the bottom of his shield so many times he might as well just walk with it, rather than fighting an enemy, he'd take the same damage. Probably die from a broken knee. What a way to go.

When he'd actually rammed his way into Sera, while training, out of frustration, he'd screamed out as sensitive skin broke, another injury adding to insult, flesh bruised and bones pushed by his own action.

In that moment, he hated Solas.

\----------

_"You are so beautiful," Solas breathed, expression soft, gentle as he looked down at the warrior. Revas looked back. He wasn't entirely certain. Solas had spoken things of slave markings, and combined with the knowledge of Abelas, the Well of Sorrows, they made sense, they seemed logical. But they'd been written on his face with the blood of his family. But for something that had always, for him, represented worship to Elgar'nan, vengeance, warmth for his people and burning rage for those who opposed them, to be a sign of no more than common slavery, no different than Tevinter..._

_His doubts were silenced, shortly, with the draw of Solas' lips to his own. The man's warmth, the solace in an unfamiliar and unwelcome world, once again drew him into a feeling of safety, blanketed him. Perhaps, he was a little closer to the Rift Mage. Perhaps, that odd distance in his eyes was nothing more than doubts over how the Dalish had treated him, and Revas surprised him again. He returned the kiss. A tongue darted against his lips, and he parted them, accepted it to venture. The tip of his' greeted, tasted the man. He'd always taste like his travels from the Free Marches were worth it, no matter how far he was from home. Where Solas' hands rested to his back, Revas brushed them over his hips, held him close._

_But when lips stopped touching, his eyes opened, he watched. Sadness reshaped Solas' eyes, and a door slammed shut inside his head. Revas' heart drew tight in his chest. It was too much. His lips curled to form a sentence, Solas' name hot on his tongue-_

_"And I am sorry. I distracted you from your duty. It will never happen again."_

_His heart shattered. Cold, were the words spoken to him. Whatever he spoke next, whatever he heard next, he couldn't make out. There were too many steps. There was too much wrong._

_"Are you kidding me?!" He could hear it, shrill, like his ears were popped. Fifteen feet below water. He wasn't sure if Solas was still there._

_It didn't matter._

_The inquisition would demand and take and he knew Solas knew so much more but wouldn't let on, whether it be his death, he'd be made effectively tranquil, it didn't matter. He wouldn't let him in, no matter how much he pressed the doors. Revas would prove him wrong. He'd come out, the same he always was._

_He had to. Solas wouldn't be taken from him like everything else._

\----------

"Can't you take up a harmless hobby like knitting? Shit," Sera spat, poultice bound tighter to what she knew was going to be a particularly nasty bruise on her wrist. "Play with yourself or something instead of chasing after a nasty old bat and asking me to get you fixed up for it."

Revas' lips were drawn up, scowl on his face, and he couldn't even complain. Not with sharp stinging in his limb as Dagna removed dozens of buckles to get the bloody – actually, bloody – thing off his arm.

"You could probably try and find him if I can whip up something for in the Fade instead. I mean, it'd probably just work in theory for the first couple of years, might need to run through some rams to get out the kinks—Might need to work with Dorian if he's actually up North, actually," she spoke, steady voiced, all the pulling and shifting more an annoyance on the warrior than the dwarf herself.

"Forget it! S' not worth it," Sera countered. "Just gonna invite in more demons and whatever through it, not gonna happen."

They were bickering. Back and forth. And all Revas could do was sit and wait for the damn thing to be taken off his arm, glaring at the ceiling as Dagna spoke about how fascinating the Fade could be in theory, Sera talked about how she'd rather strap some explosives to his arm so if he thrusted it he could blow shit up, possibly himself too, as long as he wasn't going to batter and bruise Sera some more.

With his free hand, he pinched the raised bridge of his nose.

Dagna was considering it.

He was going to die before he even stepped a foot past Ferelden borders and not even from Fen'Ha- _Solas'_ agents.

"Forget fighting," he finally gritted through his teeth. "I'll deal. Half the people in the cities we went through couldn't even cut a rope."

It wasn't the first thing that Solas had taken from him.


End file.
